INFECTED (Click Your Poison) (34 page)

“Those moans could be coming from anywhere,” Rosie says.

“I don’t give a shit!” you yell. You’re frightened, more frightened than when you were alone.

“Easy there,” she says.

“I’m afraid I agree, Rosie. Let’s turn back,” Lucas adds.

She stares the two of you down. “Fine. Let’s camp by the trail, then come back at first light.”

“Fine,” you say in unison with Lucas.

The three of you rush back up the canyon, the smaller rocks dislodged by your steps, the cool of the night sinking down around you, and the first patter of rain upon your shoulders. Your legs ache with fatigue. The descent was so slight you didn’t even feel the gradual dip, but on the way up you realize how far you’ve come.

Water begins streaming down the graveled floor and your footing suffers. You slip about every fourth step, though you’re the least graceful of the three. Rosie occasionally reaches for the smooth canyon walls for support, and Lucas is as fox-footed as ever.

A small torrent rushes down toward you just as the patter becomes a downpour. You’re soaked to the skin, and the new river drenches your socks as well. You’re unable to move quickly because each step is underwater.

The smooth rocks provide little stability, and you fall into the brook. Your pants are drenched. Then a new sound appears over the rain and thunder. A low grumble. But it’s not the moaning; that was overpowered by the rainstorm. This new sound drowns out the very rain beating against your ears.

A rush of water, six feet high, pounds around the bend before you. You’ve no option other than to look dumbly at the liquid wall approaching. The smooth canyon walls leave nothing to grab hold of, and no outcroppings from which to resist the rush.

The three of you are swept away by the torrent. Water makes every effort to rob you of your breath: jumping into your mouth, dunking your head under, slamming you against the canyon wall; but you’re able to cough a breath here and there as you rollick your way down the canyon.

You’re riding the very forefront of the current, watching helplessly as land becomes river. You travel the ground you reclaimed in a matter of seconds. There’s a recurring sequence of being thrown out in front of the water and getting scooped up again. After a dozen times, the rocks cutting and bruising you, the water finally catches up with the moans.

And in the next split second, you learn why you’ve seen no zombies hitherto. They were all down here, trapped and broken in the canyon. Hundreds of them piled atop one another inside a steep embankment. Then you are thrown atop the pile. They react as an angry nest of fire ants, whirling about to attack you. The last thing you see before the water comes is a small footbridge, high above the canyon. On your back, looking up, the rapids take you.

The deluge is something you can no longer resist, not with thousands of zombies grabbing and pulling at you like you’re the lone life raft after a cruise liner sinks. You’re bitten, but not eaten. You’re drowned, but not dead. At least not forever. The
Gilgazyme
 ® makes sure of that. Even as your limp body moves with the current, the plague restructures your DNA. Soon you will rise again.

You’ll never know the fate of Rosie and Lucas Tesshu, for even if you see them again, you wouldn’t know their names. Feeling and memory give way to instinct. You’ll wash up somewhere, with no recollection of who you are, and then you’ll wander toward civilization.

•
 
Give way to instinct.

MAKE YOUR CHOICE

“T
hen keep on running,” she says, no remorse in her dusky eyes.

•
 
Keep on running.

MAKE YOUR CHOICE

T
his being your first up-close encounter with the undead, you flee in terror. Your backpack bounces awkwardly as you run across neighboring lawns. You breathe hard and fast, bounding with strides longer than you knew you could take.

Once the lizard part of your brain stops telling you to run, your tunnel vision relents and you actually see what’s around you. Then you stop dead in your tracks, your back up against a house.

Across the street, a housewife zombie stands inside her home, just behind the screen door. She stares at you. Without any real signs of aggression, she pushes the tattered screen out of its frame and steps through the door.

As you stare back, two hands crash out of the glass behind you and grab onto your backpack, lifting you up to the raised window. You struggle to get out, thrashing like an angry toddler trying to squirm out of a sweater, and at the last moment slide out onto the lawn—your backpack disappears into the house.

You get away, but your gear does not. Looking back, you don’t see the undead housewife, either. Luckily, you were carrying the fireman’s axe so you at least have that. What do you do?

•
 
That pack’s got everything: weapons, first aid, food, flashlight, maps… I’ve got to go back for it.

•
 
Keep moving. If you haven’t got your health, you haven’t got anything.

MAKE YOUR CHOICE